


In the Heart of the Forest

by Fernstrike



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Doriath, First Meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 12:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13123305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fernstrike/pseuds/Fernstrike
Summary: He has always lived in the forest.---For Grundy, as part of the Tumblr Tolkien Secret Santa 2017 exchange. Enjoy!





	In the Heart of the Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grundy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/gifts).



In Doriath, the trees grow tall, and their roots dig deep into unspoiled earth. Their ancient branches are intricately netted, trawling the sea of stars above Beleriand, to ensnare and filter silver-green light into the twilit dells trapped beneath them. In the heart of the realm lies the fortress, and in the fortress is a nation.

Menegroth is a microcosm within a microcosm, the inner sanctum of a sanctuary. Its lights glow golden, unbent and unchanging, the untouched treasure in the heart of the forest. In the citadel in the core of the realm, busy hands keep the wheels of this little world turning. Around a table headed by the holly-crowned king are his princes, and in their ranks sits Celeborn.

He has always lived in the forest. Whatever synapses link the dusk-blooms and glowing fungi also flash through his mind and heart and lungs. He has always known this temple of trees, this wood and stone encasing, and the rest of the world does not necessitate his attention.

For beyond the forest, the canopy is gathered in dark clouds to block out the sky. Thorn bushes whisper strange stories to one another in the language of leaves and detritus. Unknown things with too many limbs and blinking eyes peer out of the shadows, before scurrying away into the gloaming after food and other cravings.

In Doriath, Celeborn has fear of neither dusk nor darkness. The low light means nightingales, carrying on their song even when all other birds have been silenced by the sun’s decline. It means the low hooting of owls, and of deer lifting their heads to sniff at berries and fireflies. The strange terrors of the north do not cross the borders; no bats, nor wolves, nor will-o’-the-wisps dare try to pass the Queen's bewilderment.

Until somebody does.

The forestborn feel the shift when the Girdle trembles at intrusion; they always do, whether they know it or not. For some, it’s a momentary spell of dizziness; for others, their heart skips a beat. Celeborn’s spirit is tied to the forest more closely than many others though, and whenever the borders are tested, clouds gather in his mind, throwing shadows into his vision, and he warns the outgoing march-wardens to keep watch just a mite more carefully.

Yet this time, when the Girdle is shifted, he sees stars.

It happens when the heavier snows of midwinter drift down through the canopy, draping the great hill of Menegroth in a blanket of white. Suddenly, standing at a hidden balcony to watch the tumbling flakes, the bewilderment on the border enters Celeborn’s mind in flashes of gold and white and green, and he finds his feet carrying him to the council room, seeking answers to questions he can't quite place.

When he is there, before he can even speak, his King offers an assurance - his kin have come out of the North to offer good tidings, and pass the shortest day together, and stay as guests in the kingdom thereafter until the future brings them to new journeys. His eyes are guarded and uncertain, but Celeborn can sense a cautious curiosity verging on excitement. He has never met these relations of the King. He is not certain the King has, either, but chooses not to ask. Rather, he thinks of what he knows lies beyond the border. Kin or no kin, is it possible to pass through that outer darkness unscathed? Anything beyond the Girdle cannot have lived untouched by shadow, cannot have the same wholesome preservation in its flesh. He gazes upon the strong bright walls of his homeland, and thoughts of the unknown set him on edge.

When the Queen allows their passage through the mists of the impasse, it’s almost two sunsets before they reach the Thousand Halls. When they do, the King and his princes and counsellors are there to meet them, and Celeborn is struck by the golden-haired siblings and their company. Greetings are extended, tokens are offered. Celeborn’s small-talk is swiftly silenced by the eyes of the woman standing beside the lord called Finrod Felagund.

She has ice in her blood - this he can tell from sight. Where it came from, he cannot say, and he chooses not to ask. For there is fire in her eyes also, a startling counterpoint of wisdom, hope, and wonder. The darkness beyond has touched her, but she has not wavered or shrivelled beneath its hand. Her strength intrigues him. He asks her name. She calls herself Galadriel. Then his words return to him with greater fluency, passing between the two of them with unexpected ease, and he finds himself wondering why he was ever worried about these strangers at all. 

In the end, when her brother leaves to carve out his own halls, she stays. And while the winter drifts flood the river as snowmelt during spring, and the blooms and leaves brighten and enrich their colour with the onset of summer, they too carve out a niche of their own together, here in the heart of the forest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Grundy, it is I, your Secret Santa! I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season and a great Christmas if you celebrate it. I wish you lots of love and luck for the new year!


End file.
